A Lesson In Dyeing Eggs

I had Easter dinner with my godson, George, this year. My 18 year-old, getting ready to head off to college godson. I’ve always loved spending time with him, and this year I have sought out as many opportunities as possible, knowing that he’ll be off on a college campus next year. As we sat down to dinner, his dad mentioned that George had prepared the egg game on his own this year. The egg game is one we play on various occasions throughout the year, in which each person has a plastic egg with a crumpled up piece of paper inside. On the paper is a somewhat discussion provoking, somewhat awkward question. The person with the question answers, then other people at the table often share their own stories.

Clark, to my right, had the question, “What’s the most trouble you’ve ever gotten in?” After he answered, I thought about this. There have been the minor instances in which I was stopped by the police in a foreign country without my passport and ended up in jail for a few hours, as well as the times that I knew I was doing something wrong (ie underage drinking on a country road) and happened to get caught, but the time that stood out for me most vividly was a time when I truly didn’t intend to do anything wrong. And got in a surprising amount of trouble for it.

I probably was 8 or 9 years old. Maybe 7. My mother worked part-time, and my younger sister and I were often at home alone for a an hour or two after school each day until she came home. On Wednesday afternoons we had “Wonderful Wednesdays” at church, a time for social fellowship and a bible story or two. It was near Easter, and there was going to be an Easter egg hunt during the Wonderful Wednesday program at the church. I can’t remember if mom had not had a chance to dye Easter eggs, or if I thought we needed more. What I do remember is thinking I would be very helpful. I took the container of eggs out of the refrigerator, prepared the dye (mixing vinegar and food coloring, as I’d seen mom do each year), and dyed a dozen eggs. A neighbor picked up me and my  sister and took us to the church. I gave my basket of eggs to the leader to hide. The children played inside while the leaders hid the eggs we had all brought in the woods, in the grass, and around the building.

And then the hunt began. We ran in all directions, swinging our baskets and squealing with excitement when we found an egg. And then there was crying. And yelling. A little girl had picked up an egg rather forcefully and it had broken in her hand, raw yolk dripping all over her dress. A couple of other children had done the same. The leader was hollering, “Who brought these eggs? Who decided to play a prank and bring raw eggs? Everyone over here!”

We lined up and the leader continued to interrogate us. She focused her ire at the older children, the middle school and junior high students. “Who brought raw eggs?” I recognized the broken shells in my friends’ hands. I timidly said, while looking at the ground, “Maybe those are the eggs I brought.” The leader came closer and bent down so that her face was very close to mine. “What did you say?” I looked at her. “I think maybe those are my eggs. I think those are the eggs I brought. I didn’t know they would break. I didn’t know you were supposed to cook the eggs. I wasn’t trying to play a joke.” I simultaneously saw on the other children’s faces relief (they weren’t the object of interrogation anymore) and apprehension (what was going to happen to me). The rest of the afternoon was a blur. I wasn’t allowed to participate in any of the other activities and fully understood the meaning of reprimanded by the time the evening was over. My mother wasn’t very happy either.

In hindsight, I remember this story and laugh hysterically. Had I wanted to play a prank, this would have been a good one. I’m kind of surprised it hadn’t happened before. I learned how to boil eggs after that. From then on, however, I always brought plastic eggs filled with jelly beans to Easter egg hunts. Just to be on the safe side.


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